The forest swallowed light the mountain... Being only ash.
No birds. No wind worth naming. Only the sound of footsteps—Adam's boots pressing into ash, the knight's armor answering with a tired rattle that echoed too loudly in the emptiness. The trees stood tall and skeletal, stripped of leaves, their bark pale and brittle like bone. Ash gathered at their roots, disturbed only when the trio passed through, rising briefly before settling again, as if the ground itself exhaled.
Yuruki slowed, her gaze drifting ahead. The forest felt old. Not ancient in a majestic way—old like something that had outlived its purpose.
A narrow river curved around their path. Its surface shimmered faintly, thin white strands floating above it like falling silk, like remnants of spring that never quite touched the water. On the far bank, a deer stood motionless. Its eyes were white. Unblinking. Watching.
Not hunting.Observing.
Lenses, Adam thought. Like something was looking through them rather than at them.
They kept walking anyway.
Toward something.Toward nowhere specific.
Toward where their steps decided to land.
The knight walked stiffly beside them, his posture rigid, as if the armor was holding him together more than his will was. His thoughts wandered freely, too freely, circling the same question again and again.
"Where are we going?"
Yuruki glanced sideways, a tired smile tugging at her lips.
"Didn't you say there was a village?" she asked lightly. "Adam's servant?"
The knight stiffened.
"I am not Adam's servant," he said quickly. Then slower, uncertain, "I am… I am…"
His voice trailed off.
What was he?
A knight?A prince?A remnant?
Where was he even headed? What end was he supposed to arrive at?
Am I an Ascended?The thought surfaced uninvited—and felt wrong the moment it did.
Something was missing.
Adam looked up at him.
"You alright?"
He almost reached out, a half-formed thought to gently scold Yuruki for poking at something fragile—but Yuruki had already noticed. She sighed, her expression softening.
"It's painful," she muttered.
Adam slowed. "Because of me?"
Silence followed. Long enough for the forest to press in closer.
Then—
"No," Yuruki snapped suddenly, breaking it with sharp humor. "It's because I'm fricking tired."
She stopped walking entirely.
"Who the heck makes a thirty-four-year-old woman walk this much? My bones are cracking. Carry me."
Adam blinked.
Only then did it hit him—how long it had been. How many years had layered themselves quietly over moments like this.
Will it really be alright?The thought came too late.
Yuruki didn't wait for an answer. She stepped forward, grabbed onto him, and hopped onto his back with practiced ease. Her arms settled around his shoulders. Her face pressed into the fabric of his hoodie.
She smiled.
Despite the darkness.Despite the forest.
Her fingers curled, lightly gripping the cloth, grounding herself.
There was a deep ache beneath it. Something older than exhaustion. Fear—quiet and buried—that time was moving in only one direction for her.
That she was aging.
And that Adam… was not.
Still, she stayed there, leaning against him, content in the moment. Knowing there were reasons not to get too close. Knowing that limits hurt more when one person had them and the other didn't.
But at least I can walk beside him, she thought.Even if it's on his back.
The knight lowered his gaze, staring at his gloved hands.
"Is the White King alright?"
Adam hesitated. Somewhere farther, entire networks of connection—plexuses of worlds that we already move last layered atop or connected from one another—remained unreachable. Silent... Parralel connection from his clone is already severed long past that point.
"I don't know," he said finally. "He should be… fine."
The knight looked up at the sky. Clouds drifted slowly overhead, thick enough to hide the stars. He remembered once believing the stars had purpose. That they were placed deliberately. That destiny was written among them.
Now he felt destined for something—but standing beside someone who didn't even know what he was.
"What am I?" he asked quietly.
Adam smiled, uncertain but sincere.
"You're you."
The knight frowned.
"…?"
Adam continued, voice calm.
"Everything changes. Places. Roles. Names. Even worlds," he said. "The connections you make, the experiences you carry, the people you walk with—but you... In the end your still you."
He shrugged lightly, adjusting Yuruki's weight.
"In the end… you're still you."
Yuruki grumbled, clapping her hands firmly on Adam's back.
"Tell that to someone! Adam… are you still homeless?" she teased, her voice carrying the weight of memory. "The first time I called you over was from that day… barging into my facility like some storm. I had guessed you were trying to robbed it..."
The knight's eyes widened under his helmet.
Adam stiffened, cheeks burning. "Hey!"
Yuruki only smiled, her gaze sharp, dissecting him in ways words couldn't. "See… you don't need anything to be something." She gestured toward him, eyes flicking through microexpressions, heartbeat, hesitation, and every silent emotion he had tried to hide. Even now, after all this time… he still had him to prove.
Yuruki then immediately covers his eye's... "OKAY, that was a joke!... I promised!... Please don't take it seriously!" Being devoided of interactions...
The knight stayed silent.
Then, for the first time since the forest, a small smile curved beneath his helm. A memory stirred—parents teasing, laughter that felt both distant and familiar.
They moved forward again, the forest finally giving way to a flat dirt path, the road splitting at a crossroads. At the center, a sign jutted from the earth: Yored Chomtzah of the Har. Adam squinted. He had no idea what it meant.
"Stay on the crossroads," Yuruki muttered.
Being with the sign as it says...
They continued, Yuruki perched lightly on Adam's back. Occasionally, they came across a deer—Adam would take it down while Yuruki sparked a small fire from gathered bushes. The meat roasted over flames, the smoky scent filling the quiet of the road. They drank, rested, walked again. The rhythm became ritual.
Eventually, the path opened to a large kingdom. Yuruki's eyes widened. She had never seen a kingdom before, only glimpses through sketches or the things tucked into her bags.
She flipped through them absentmindedly, examining fragments of memory, of friends, of the places they had passed, while taking in the vast stone walls and bustling streets.
The guards hadn't noticed them yet, thanks to the knight's subtle magic, the shimmer of his cloak making them slightly ethereal, half-hidden in shadows.
Tents leaned against stone houses, a constant hum of life filling the streets. People moved with purpose: soldiers marched, adventurers carried their packs, merchants jostled for space, children ran freely across cobblestones. Towers pierced the skyline like watchful sentinels.
Adam paused, his gaze sweeping the streets. "This is… a small place," he murmured.
Yuruki scoffed. "Small? No. This is large."
Adam tilted his head, uncertain, but continued observing.
A preacher's voice rang over the marketplace, calling the faithful to pay their tithe. A statue of a deity, carried on a wooden carriage, passed among the streets. Merchants paused, livestock frozen in place, children staring with wide eyes.
"Call upon the tithe for Shirshor," the preacher bellowed. "The righteous shall benefit. The people shall prosper!" his clothes were pure silk and gold...
Crowds shuffled forward, hands clutching sacks of gold. Yuruki stared at it blankly. "Huh. That… could be an idea," she murmured under her breath.
Adam studied the statue. It had no eyes to see, no mouth to speak, no expression at all. And yet people knelt before it, offering wealth, devotion, and fear. He frowned.
If there is a God… would it care? Or would all of this—the coins, the sacrifices, the noise, and even the people things of this world—be meaningless?
They walked on, leaving the throng behind, the clatter and chants fading into the distance. Yuruki seemed uncomforted by the display, the hollow grandeur pressing lightly on her thoughts.
The knight lingered just a step behind, his gaze drawn upward. He thought of his father's crown, passed down through generations, crafted in simplicity yet adorned with reverence. Even with it made by the same commoner's clothes, he realized, could hold majesty when shaped by history, by expectation, by meaning. And yet… what made it different? Why did these clothes feel noble, while others remained plain?
He didn't answer. Not yet.